


Drabbles Inspired by The Heavy Weight of Duty

by Impextoo



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: F/F, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-08-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:44:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impextoo/pseuds/Impextoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of AU drabbles for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain">adelaide_rain</a>'s AU Blackice fic, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/783893/">The Heavy Weight of Duty</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Golden Possibility

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adelaide_rain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Heavy Weight of Duty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/783893) by [adelaide_rain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelaide_rain/pseuds/adelaide_rain). 



> In terms of The Heavy Weight of Duty's timeline, this drabble would fall between Chapter 5 and Chapter 6.

Golden light filtered through his eyelids, coaxing him awake. Jack blinked blearily in the bright morning sun. He felt a slight pang of disappointment—he certainly felt lighter, buoyed by a sleep untroubled by nightmares, but he wished he could’ve remembered the sweet dreams Pitch had promised.

The mattress suddenly shifted and Jack became hideously aware of two things. First, he was absolutely, one-hundred percent naked, and second,  _there was someone in bed with him_. The person spooned against him moved, molding the full length of his body against Jack, his hardness pressing against the curve of Jack’s bottom. Jack froze in heart-stopping panic. Pitch would burn the palace down to its foundation if he caught Jack in bed with someone else. That someone else? Jack barely contained a shudder at the thought of what Pitch would do to him.

“Jack,” Pitch grumbled, his voice roughened by sleep. Jack went limp with relief. It didn’t explain why Pitch was in bed with him, but the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Pitch pushed his nose into Jack’s hair and inhaled deeply. “You’re awake awfully early on your birthday.”

“My—my birthday?” Jack asked in confusion. Jack’s birthday was many weeks away; in fact, it was well beyond the time of the promise month. What was going on? And more importantly, where the hell were his clothes?

Pitch hummed in response. “I suppose I should blame myself for your eagerness. I did promise you a spectacular birthday, especially since you failed to tell me of the date last year until it was too late to plan a true celebration.”

Jack tried valiantly to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat. His birthday—his real birthday—had been a terrible experience in Lunanoff, with the temple bells ringing mournfully and his family, when he could glimpse them from the confines of his room…their faces were always twisted in grief. Poor Tooth could never contain her tears.

“I don’t need a big to-do, you know.”

“I know you don’t need it and I don’t have to do it,” Pitch murmured, in mild exasperation. His warm breath ghosted over Jack’s neck. Jack shivered happily in response. “I want to celebrate it. I want everyone to celebrate it. This day should be all about your birthday, or more specifically,  _you_.” Pitch huffed a laugh, an arm snaking around Jack to pull him closer. “Though to be fair, every day is about you, for me.”

Unexpected warmth bloomed in Jack’s chest, sending tendrils of pleasure twisting up and down his spine. Jack knew Pitch wanted him in any way he could have him—hadn’t he seen the bright longing in Pitch’s eyes, the flares of possessiveness, the near jealous guarding of his time with Jack? There was none of that now, just secure contentedness in his embrace. This felt…this  _was_  different. Different, Jack mused, wasn’t bad. Just different.

“Still trying to dazzle me?” Jack joked. He blinked, caught in a moment of clarity. That’s exactly what Pitch had been up to, attempting to stuff the meager time of the promise month with as much splendor and wonder as possible, to tempt Jack into staying.

He couldn’t say it wasn’t working.

Pitch propped himself up on one arm. Jack bit his lip in a vain effort to fight a grin. The regal, immaculate Pitch had wild, tousled bed head, and Jack couldn’t resist running his hands through the black mess. Pitch gave a satisfied rumble deep in his chest that never failed to make quicksilver pleasure leap through Jack’s veins. Pitch smiled down at him and Jack could hardly breathe for the warm, sincere devotion in those golden eyes. “I should ask you the same thing,” he replied, dropping a light kiss on Jack’s lips, “my very own cunning thief.”

“Thief!” Jack cried in outrage. “You’d better do some explaining if you—”

“If you give yourself a moment to think, I am confident that you can puzzle out what your stolen prize is,” Pitch teased, swiping a thumb across one of Jack’s nipples in retaliation.

Jack snorted. He need more than one measly minute to figure out any cryptic hints that Pitch dropped. This clearly wasn’t the minute Pitch intended, as he continued to tug and pinch Jack’s nipples. Jack whimpered, grasping at Pitch’s arm.

“This is mightily tempting,” Pitch smirked, “but it is your birthday. If you can delay your pleasure for a moment, I have gift unlike any you’ve seen before.” Pitch reached for the bedside table and Jack eagerly followed his movement. There was a single, open vial of golden dream sand sitting there. Confused, Jack looked back at Pitch.

But he was gone.

Jack sat bolt upright in bed. He was still clothed in his night robe. Through his windows, he could still see the mostly green leaves on the trees. A dream. It had all been a dream. He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully, absently stroking the gold embroidery on his sheets. Had that…was  _that_  supposed to be his sweet dream?

Jack flopped back onto his pillows, exhausted and bewildered and a lot more awake than he preferred to be in the mornings. He wouldn’t think about it, at least not now.  _Much_  later, in fact. He just hoped Pitch wouldn’t ask him what he dreamed about. Jack would never,  _ever_  be able to contain a blush of such epic proportions.


	2. In which Onyx deserves an award for getting through this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble falls between Chapter 3 and Chapter 4.

Onyx closed the door to her chamber and sagged against its cool varnished surface. Gods above and below, what an awful day. What on earth had they been—

“There you are!”

Onyx nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise. Amber stood in the doorway of her bedroom, dressed in what could generously be described as no more than a few pale, sweet slips of peach silk. She clutched a leather portfolio to her chest with barely contained eagerness.

“That meeting took  _forever_ ,” Amber proclaimed with exaggerated boredom. She crossed the room with a soft swish of silk, the porcelain skin of her ankles flashing beneath the hem of her dress. “I know you—you haven’t eaten since lunch, have you?”

“I’m not hungry,” Onyx said repressively, collapsing on the divan. Food wasn’t going to burn off this frustration. The only thing to do that would be to drag that red-headed strumpet into the bedroom and—

“I don’t care,” Amber interrupted her thoughts. She set a tray laden with food at the end of the coffee table. “You sit, you eat, and you listen to me.”

“Just like every other day,” Onyx muttered under her breath as Amber situated herself on the ground at Onyx’s feet, putting her at the right height for the coffee table. From this angle, Onyx could see the minute rise and fall of Amber’s breasts as she breathed. Onyx quickly looked away, plucking up a handful of berries to distract herself.

“Now,” Amber declared delightedly, opening her portfolio with a flourish and scattering papers across the coffee table, “I am going to show my sketches for Jackson’s winter wardrobe. Now I know what you’re thinking, that autumn’s just begun, but I was just consumed with—”

“He won’t be here for winter,” Onyx sighed, “Or maybe he will. I don’t know anything anymore, not after today.”

Amber looked confused. “Where else would he go? Pitch is crazy to plan a Royal Progess when it’s snowing.”

“I didn’t mean not here at the palace. I meant not here as in Umbra,” Onyx scrubbed at her face tiredly. “Amber, he didn’t know about this, about  _anything_. The moon king and his advisors just cast him down here without even so much as a ‘please.’”

Amber, for a very rare moment, had nothing to say. Under any other circumstances, Onyx would’ve reveled in it. “But the treaty said—and Pitch had been—,” Amber’s bottom lip trembled. Hesitantly, Amber whispered, “Oh gods, what did Pitch do?”

Onyx gave her a hard look. “He ranted and raved to me, then did the same to his advisors, and then he locked himself in his training suite for five hours.”

“Five hours…,” Amber licked her lips, clearing her throat. “Well, that’s helpful to know, so I can avoid getting my head bit off tomorrow. I am more concerned about what Pitch did to Jackson.”

“Jack. He goes by Jack,” Onyx corrected absently, staring at Amber’s mouth. How was she expected to keep up with this conversation when Amber licked her berry-red lips like that? It was positively indecent. It should be illegal. It should be  _her_ licking those lips.

Onyx was losing her damn mind.

“Onyx?” Amber prompted, looking more than a touch worried. “What did Pitch do to Jack?”

Onyx blinked several times, trying to drag her thoughts back to the matter at hand. It was harder than it should have been. “He was…kind. It’s not Jack’s fault; if anything, Pitch ought to be thanking him for telling the truth, before Pitch accidentally traumatized him.”

“You’ve lost me again.”

“Courtesans in Lunanoff…the king just uses them for a good tumble and that’s it,” Onyx explained, trying to keep the disgust out of her voice—both for the practices of Lunanoff and her inability to concentrate on something other than the loose red curl that lightly grazed Amber’s neck with every slight movement. She popped another berry into her mouth. “Not to mention it sounds like he’s got a whole stable of them at his beck and call.”

“So Jack thought he was being sent done here to be Pitch’s royal whore. How charming,” Amber sneered. Onyx rolled her eyes. So much for keeping the conversation civilized. “So is Pitch sending him back?”

“There’s going to be a promise month. Jack asked for it himself.”

“That’s not surprising. Why would he be eager to go home?” Amber shrugged a slim, milk white shoulder, causing another curl to tumble loose from her hair pins. Onyx curled her hand into a fist to resist the urge to reach out and tug it. “The moon king clearly treats him like chattel and at best, the entire population of Lunanoff is going to think Jack scuttled any chance of peace by being a  _tremendously_  bad fuck.”

“Dear gods, Amber, you can’t say things like that!” Onyx hissed. “Please don’t say such to Jack tomorrow. He’s gone through enough already.”

Amber glared in response. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” she huffed. “I won’t treat Jack roughly.”

“Wish you’d treat me so kindly,” Onyx grumbled.

“I didn’t hear you complaining about how I treated you last night,” Amber arched a delicate eyebrow, negating any notion that she didn’t know the fine art of nuance. Onyx felt her cheeks heat; her throat seemed to have a hard time swallowing. Thank gods she’d finished her berries. It wouldn’t do to choke to death on sexual frustration.

“I’ll need to throw together some trews and tunics to take with me tomorrow. I know I have them in Jack’s size,” Amber mused, biting her thumb absently as her brow furrowed in thought. She eased herself up off the floor, settling on the divan next to Onyx.

“What?” Onyx asked distractedly. Another brilliant rejoinder. Onyx tugged at her collar, feeling extremely flushed with Amber pressed against her side. She cleared her throat, hoping her face hadn’t betrayed her thoughts. “Why? You’ve already made enough clothes that he’ll never wear the same outfit twice for at least two months.”

“Because he’s going to be self-conscious enough about being bartered and traded like a horse at a country fair,” Amber explained, brushing nonexistent lint from the thin silk gown. Onyx decided then and there that Amber was doing it all on purpose. That had to be the only explanation for the complete ruination of her ability to think.

“All of the clothes I’ve made are…very sensuous, to say the least,” Amber continued as if she was completely oblivious to Onyx’s struggles. “If Jack doesn’t want to flaunt himself, he shouldn’t have to.”

Onyx could see one insurmountable impediment to that plan and he had a fearsome temper. “Pitch will—”

“Pitch’ll understand. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Make him?” Onyx laughed incredulously, torn between feeling affronted by Amber’s open disrespect for social conventions and amused at her genial impudence. “He’s the  _king_ , Amber. No one can ‘make’ him do anything.”

Amber rolled her eyes. “I see him naked on a daily basis. Sometimes more than that—”

“Stop, stop, stop!” Onyx cried in panic, “I do not want to hear this!”

“And,” Amber pressed on over her objection, “the terror of the king’s temper is greatly diminished when you see his arse cheeks quivering with rage.”

Onyx stared in horror at Amber before a desperate, hysterical giggle bubbled forth. Amber’s eyes crinkled in sympathy as they dissolved into laughter. For a few blissful moments, the stress of the day was dissolved away, lost in the heady delight of true side-splitting laughter.

Amber gasped for air, pressing her forehead against Onyx’s. Onyx, equally breathless, brushed away tears in her own eyes. “I am...I’ll never be able to look him in the face again. Thanks  _so_  much for that, Amber.”

Leaning back to catch her breath, she watched Amber shuffle her papers back into her portfolio, her slim hands skimming over them like dragonflies over the surface of a pond. Her suddenly quiet demeanor cooled the heat in Onyx’s blood.

Onyx clasped one of her hands, drawing it near. “I’m sorry about your designs,” she murmured, tracing the light blue veins just beneath the surface of Amber’s pale wrist. Such veins were nearly impossible to see on gray-skinned Umbrans like her. She wondered if Pitch would be able to see Jack’s as clearly.

“Jack deserves your sympathy—and support—more than than me and my sketches,” Amber smiled softly at her and Onyx’s heart fluttered painfully in response. “And Pitch, too, though he would never admit to it.”

“But—”

“There’s still a good chance Jack’ll stay,” she said with a decisive nod of her head. Amber tucked her legs underneath her, twining her free arm about Onyx’s and leaned heavily into her side. Onyx very determinedly did not look down. Amber’s gown was much too distracting, especially at this angle.

“If he doesn’t, and even though blue really isn’t my color,” Amber sighed in a very put upon manner. Her red lips curved into a wicked smile and Onyx fought the urge to squirm. That smile made terrible, wonderful promises that Amber never failed to deliver on. “I’m sure we could find  _something_  to do with all that sheer fabric.”

Later, Onyx would feel a little remorseful for breaking one of the coffee table’s legs and knocking a bowl of berries all over the floor.

But only a little.


	3. Still Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble doesn't have a specific spot in The Heavy Weight of Duty timeline; it falls anywhere between Chapter 4 and Chapter 9. Inspired by this [gorgeous artwork](http://callicuttart.com/Gallery-Book/Book-Light%20From%20the%20Begginning%20of%20Time.html)

Stars.

A carpet of stars stretch out crookedly and infinitely in front of him, midnight blue fabric picked with gold and silver thread. Pitch shifts on his feet, startled to feel that his feet are bare but that his shoulders are sagging under the crushing weight of his coronation robes.

Something tugs within him, just behind his breast bone, and Pitch lurches forward. The stars flare and ripple as his feet strike them.  _A river_ , he thinks in wonder,  _not a carpet but a great river of stars_. He continues onward, slowly sinking deeper into the waters. The water is warm as it laps against his ankles, his calves. The brocade and velvet of his robes drag on him, sodden by the river. Pitch’s fingers fumble clumsily with the clasps and ties, feeling stifled by their mere presence. He peels them away, exposing bare skin, not bothering to watch as they sink away into the dark mire of stars.

Unconcerned for his nakedness, Pitch glides forward as the waters come up to kiss the tops of his thighs. There are so many stars, more than he has ever seen before, even when he’d been sailing the vast ocean. He trails his fingers through the water, delighted at how the stars react to his touch, sparking with bright flashes of white. His own skin seems brighter, a dark gray veil overlying a bright silver.

Pitch pauses to run glistening hands over his bare arms. His people aren’t from the stars, he realizes. They are  _made_  of stars.

Eddies begin to swirl gently about him, containing great dense clusters of stars. Unable to resist, Pitch gleefully plunges a hand into the nearest one. He nearly goes blind as hundreds— _thousands_ —of stars explode into being, their light searing his eyes.

Suddenly Pitch hears a laugh, like the delicate tinkling of freezing rain against the palace windows. Blinking away the spots obscuring his vision, he turns towards the sound, his breath catching at the sight before him.

It’s Jack, cloaked only in a shifting robe of dream sand. At times it swirls about his torso in dizzying patterns, at others it shifts away, exposing nearly all of that marble perfect skin. Jack’s much shorter than Pitch, meaning the star river rises nearly up to his waist. Pitch fairly salivates at the thought of Jack really and truly nude beneath the sand and water. It’s a  _crime_ , having to restrain himself every single day from tearing Jack’s robes off of him and bring him to screaming orgasm. He has only a few all-too-brief memories of Jack’s naked beauty and it would drive a lesser man crazy to be so tempted.

Jack laughs again, beckoning Pitch forward as he moves further down the river. His golden leash trails along with him, disturbing the stars with muted clinks. Pitch surges after him, but Jack dances just out of reach with that mischievous smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He leaves swirling designs of frost in his wake that float atop the stars, but never melt.

Pitch pauses in his pursuit to trace one as it drifts by. He manages to admire its delicate beauty for a brief second before it shatters under his fingers with a startlingly loud crack. He looks up Jack, whose deep blue eyes are now frightened and terribly sad. Jack shamefacedly gathers the remaining frostlings about him and begins snuffing them out one by one before Pitch can stop him. Each crack of noise causes the dream sand to pulse and shift in agitation, reminding Pitch of a swarm of angry bees.

Capturing Jack by the hands, Pitch tugs him flush against his body. Gods, he wants to touch  _everything_ , but Jack is always so eager for the kisses that Pitch is only too happy to bestow. He pushes the leash out of the way, over Jack’s shoulder. Pitch slides his hands up Jack’s arms, the dream sand shrinking back from him. Jack smiles up at him beatifically and Pitch can’t resist pressing a sweet lingering kiss against those soft lips.

Jack jerks away with a pained gasp, clutching at his chest as he bows forward in pain. Pitch grabs him by the shoulders before he can collapse and hauls him upright. He feels shockingly, violently ill as he stares at Jack in horror. Beneath Jack’s clenching fist,  _right above his heart_ , nightmare sand boils forth.

Panicked, Pitch knocks away away the sand as fast as he can. The nightmare sand hits the stars, causing them to crackle and shudder before fizzling away into nothingness. If Pitch had any terror to spare, he’d be horrified that his greatest accomplishment— _his creation_ —kills stars. But all of his fear is for Jack. Pitch can’t keep up with the nightmare sand as it steadily eats away at Jack’s body.

Suddenly, Jack stumbles backward, out of Pitch’s reach. The leash is taut behind him, dragging him down into the stars. He throws Pitch a pleading, terrified look that  _screams_  for help before the leash jerks and Jack disappears under the water with a sickening gurgle. A cloud of nightmare sand blooms upward in his wake, devouring stars as it spreads.

Pitch dives after him, through the sand, arms and legs moving mechanically in a stuttering imitation of swimming. The river feels thick and oily as he plunges downward, like trying to swim in mud. Jack is being pulled inexorably down towards the black depths of the river. Pitch has perfect night vision but his golden eyes can’t pierce the dark abyss. Why can’t he see into the darkness? If he could just  _see_  the danger, he could save Jack!

Jack’s limbs convulse in a frenzy of fear; whatever is dragging Jack down is pulling  _hard_. The collar digs deep into Jack’s neck, crushing his windpipe, and his hands scrabble against the smooth surface, desperately trying to release the collar. Pitch curses the collar—he curses  _himself_. Without that damn collar, Jack’d be  _safe_ , there’d be nothing to drag him away.

The nightmare sand twists and crawls over Jack, already winding its way down his thighs. It lurches upward from his chest, gliding over the golden collar to claw its way across Jack’s face. It flows over his cheeks, inching towards his mouth and nose.

Jack opens his mouth to scream, but the nightmare sand plunges in instead. A great bubble of blood bursts forth from Jack’s mouth as he spasms and writhes. It fills Pitch’s vision and he gags as the bright copper tang floods his mouth. He swims faster, wincing as the stars blur past him, scalding his skin where they strike him. Jack is nearly completely consumed by the nightmare sand, his bright blue eyes blown with terror and tears leaking out. The shining droplets float upward, splashing against Pitch’s cheeks.

He reached a desperate hand up towards Pitch, agonizingly just of reach. Pitch struggles to keep up, to grasp those pale fingers. His arms are shaking from the exertion and he can hardly suck air into his burning lungs. He’s so  _close_ , the very tips of his fingers just missing Jack’s. The leash jerks hard one last time and Jack tumbles down into gaping maw of the abyss, forever out of Pitch’s reach. Pitch opens his mouth to cry out, tasting nothing but grit and blood and—

Pitch jerks awake with a gasping sob. His heart is pounding out of control and his lungs are burning. Gods, it feels like someone punched him  _hard_  in the chest with an armored fist. Pitch drags a trembling hand over his face, shocked to find his cheeks damp with tears.

The Nightmare King having a  _nightmare_. Pitch would laugh, but he’s concerned he might sick up if he tries.

He stumbles out of bed, his mouth still tinged with a metallic tang of copper and the sour taste of fear. He gently prods the inside of his mouth and finds a sore spot on the inside of his cheek. He must’ve bitten himself during the dream. He finds a carafe of water and pours himself several glasses before he feels like his mouth is free of all traces of blood.

He glances out a window. It’s a dark night, with clouds thick enough to obscure the moon and stars. Pitch is grateful. The sight of stars would be unbearable right now. As he turns away, his eye catches on the portrait of Jack.

It’s a fair representation of Jack, though nothing can truly capture the living beauty of the real thing. The expression is all wrong though. He looks poised and refined, his face a smooth mask of dignity. The eyes however…he’s never noticed it before, but in the dimness of Pitch’s bedroom, they look so sad—

Just like when Jack was crushing the frostlings.

Pitch whirls away, his heart trying to crawl up his throat. He pours himself another glass of water. If he’s going to be ill, he’s got to dilute all that burning stomach acid as best he can.

Pitch wanders over to his bookshelf, plucking down a red leather-bound book. Maybe if he read something pleasant, he could get back to sleep without anymore disturbances. He absently thumbs through the pages, his mind skirting the edge of his dream. There’s absolutely no reason to go check on Jack. Guards are posted round the clock at his room. With the barrier in the balcony, no other means of ingress exist.  _You’re being ridiculous_ , he scolds himself.

He snaps the book shut in frustration. His body is still buzzing with anxiety. Even if there’s no practical reason to check on Jack, there can’t be any harm in doing so. Tucking the book under his arm, he strides towards the darkest corner of the room. He wraps the shadows about him and in a dizzying lurch, his room fades away, only to replaced with Jack’s.

The simple sight of Jack’s slumbering form bleeds Pitch’s tension away. On silent feet, Pitch crosses the room, setting his book down soundlessly before approaching the bed. He lets out a slow, reverent breath as he gazes down at Jack. Even on this dark night, Jack’s rumpled hair gleams silver. Pitch closes his eyes as a fine tremor runs through him. It’s as silver as starlight right before it gets snuffed out.

Pitch starts when Jacks shifts, rolling partway onto his back. Thankfully his eyes don’t open and he settles quickly. Pitch has to clamp down on a heady thrum of desire, as Jack’s new position reveals a creamy stripe of his pale chest. Gods, all he wants to do is crawl into that bed and twine himself about Jack until he can’t tell where Jack ends and he begins.

His eyes trace over the sweet curve of Jack’s cheekbones, down his elegant neck. Normally all too eager to linger on the collar, Pitch averts his eyes quickly. He still feels a small frisson of nausea as the memory of Jack clawing at the collar swims before him.

Looking isn’t nearly enough for Pitch, not now. He’s done it before, on that first night when Jack fell asleep on the balcony. A few light touches hadn’t woken Jack then and Pitch is sure he can steal a surreptitious caress now with Jack being none the wiser. Suddenly overwhelmed by a need for physical reassurance that Jack is fine, that he’s  _safe_ , Pitch reaches down to stroke Jack’s face.

A glint of gold catches his eye.

Sitting innocuously on the bedside table is that vial of dream sand he’d given Jack. Pitch hesitates, his hand hovering just above Jack’s cheek. Swallowing thickly, Pitch looks down at Jack’s unmarred alabaster skin.  _It was a dream_ , he reminds himself,  _and you’re awake now_.

Pitch withdraws his hand.

In the darkness of Jack’s room, Pitch sees the truth as bright as day. If anything happens to Jack, Pitch’ll never be able to forgive himself. Nothing— _no one_ —will ever be able to replace what Jack would take with him. Pitch bites back a huff of pained laughter. Jack has only taken what Pitch has offered  _and the idiot doesn’t even realize it_. But then again, if Jack’s an idiot—and gods know he can be, so blissfully ignorant at times—that just makes Pitch a fool. He’s been a fool from the start for giving so much for so little guarantee of return.

 _A fool_ , he thinks as he retreats back into the shadows.  _A fool who is running out of time_.


	4. As We Mean to Go On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This AU smutlet falls between Chapters 9 and 10.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on the passing allusion in THWoD's Chapter 10 to Jack's first attempt at oral sex.

Gentle fingers trace feather light patterns along Jack's bicep, lifting him slowly out of a sleepy haze. Jack buries his head deeper into the pillow, not wanting to wake. The fingers are replaced by clever lips and Jack reluctantly rolls over to look at Pitch. He smiles dreamily, "Mmm, is there was something you wanted?"

"I was hoping to take you to bed, but it seems you've beaten me to it," he teases, dragging his teeth along Jack's arm. "And you've stolen my pillow."

Jack rubs his cheek against it and clings tighter. "Don't see your name on it," he mutters, inhaling deeply. The cotton is imbued with Pitch's scent, smoke and steel and something  _dark_ , something so comforting Jack wishes he could capture and keep with him. "Besides, I wouldn't need your pillow to keep me company if you'd come to bed earlier."

"Being king does take a regrettable amount of my time," Pitch reminds him, his golden eyes overly bright in the low light of the bedroom, like twin coals that seemed to have caught fire. "But I'm here now and you," he pulls Jack up into his arms, plucking at his bed robe, "are very overdressed."

“Oh,” Jack says, helplessly, finding himself surrounded by  _miles_  of naked Pitch. He leans up to kiss Pitch, his lips pressed hard against those thin ones. They opened for him, and Jack's inside, his tongue eagerly reacquainting with Pitch's. Pitch makes a low, growling sound in the back of his throat, clapping an iron hand down on the back of Jack's neck while the other seizes his hip, pulling him into his lap. He proceeds to suck Jack's tongue softly into his mouth, still making those growling noises. 

One kiss blurs into two into three into four, and what the hell is wrong with Jack that he's counting at a time like  _this_?

Pitch tugs their mouths apart, causing Jack to gasp, but he doesn't go far, moving instead to remove Jack’s bed robe and lick and suck hungrily at his throat. Jack noses along the underside of Pitch's jaw. Pitch lets out a shuddering sigh and Jack puts his closed mouth over the quickening pulse in Pitch's neck. Pitch's fingers are in his hair, Pitch's breath against his temple, and oh  _yes_ , Jack quivers at the warm heat pooling in his groin.

The heated brush of lips rest for one agonizing second at the top of his throat, followed by a sharp nip. The lips form an O and began sucking softly. Jack clutches at Pitch's shoulders, crying out softly, hips jerking. One of Pitch's hands stays on Jack’s hip, the thumb rubbing in little circles, while the other drags fingernails down his spine. Jack’s hips jerk again and he moans, unable to process all the sensations.

Panting softly, Pitch latches onto the tender skin of Jack's shoulder and begins to suck. Pitch presses his face, flushed and hot, against the curve of Jack's throat. He brushes his mouth so very lightly against Jack's chin, across his jaw, down the other side of his throat, over his collarbone,

Jack feels his limbs start to move of their own will, twining around Pitch like ivy, his legs wrapping around his hips, his arms curling around Pitch’s neck. He's already half-hard and can't seem to stop his hips from rubbing, catlike, against Pitch’s stomach, moaning brokenly in his throat at the incredible sensation.

Pitch tortuously strokes lightly up and down the back of Jack's thigh, occasionally scraping with fingernails and causing a shiver every time. He grasps Jack's hips with both hands and pulls down roughly, bringing their hips together to rub. Jack can feel his breath rasping raggedly as those large hands slowly move him up and down in rhythm that Pitch must know is driving him crazy. Jack whimpers incoherently, mouthing at Pitch’s cheek, temple, ear, whatever part of him he can reach.

Jack twists his head back down to Pitch's mouth for another kiss, raising his hands to cup Pitch's face and stroke his thumbs along those sharp cheekbones. He cries out when Pitch's hands moved from his hips to cup his arse, squeezing gently. Pitch sinks his teeth into Jack's shoulder hard and desire blooms at the base of his spine, electric and heady and  _oh gods_ \--

"Wait, wait,  _wait_ ," Jack cries, wrenching back. His cock is throbbing furiously. Only a few more seconds and he'd have come all over Pitch's stomach. Pitch is as still as stone beneath his hands, his chest barely moving at Jack's sudden cry.

"Are you alright?" Pitch's voice is barely more than a husky rasp, but Jack can hear the depth of concern beneath. His brow is furrowed and his eyes look stricken. "Did I--"

"No, it's...I just don't want to come. I mean, like that," Jack gestures uselessly at the space between them. "I'd like to use my mouth. On you. If...if you want."

A brief flash of surprise flicks through Pitch's eyes. "Oh, I  _want_ , Jack," he murmurs darkly, "only if you're ready for that." 

"I am ready, but listen--you can't laugh," Jack begs, rubbing his sweaty palms against his thighs. Pitch had certainly seemed enjoy Jack's hand bringing him off, but Jack had known what he was supposed to doing. All Jack has now is the memory of Pitch's mouth and the scattered bits of information he'd managed to glean from the library book. This is one of the very few times Jack wishes he was more adept at book learning. "It'll make it--just don't, okay?"

The calloused tips of Pitch's fingers slide along Jack's jaw, tilting his face to look him in the eye. "I will never,  _ever_  laugh at you Jack," Pitch said firmly, his golden eyes almost unnerving in their intensity. "Not in this." 

Jack licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry. Jack worries that it might feel sandpaper--gods, that is a horrifying thought--if he doesn't do something to fix this. Half of the mind blowing sensations was from Pitch's hot, wet mouth. He'd jump up to get some water, but his cock is still so hard that standing up might be a little ambitious at this point. Jack swallows a couple of times, trying to get some moisture back in his mouth as he begins to slide off Pitch's thighs to the floor.

"A moment, Jack," Pitch stops him before he can get down to his knees. The corners of Pitch's mouth curl into a rueful smile as he hands Jack a pillow. "You're not going to be doing your knees any favors by kneeling on the hard floor for long." 

Jack quirks an eyebrow as he accepts it. "Expecting this to be a lengthy experience?" he teases breathily.

"Time is immaterial when I'm with you," Pitch responds far more seriously than Jack expected. Not sure how to respond--or if Pitch even wants a response--Jack busies himself with arranging himself and the pillow between Pitch's feet.

Jack flexes his fingers, inching his hands forward. He jumps when Pitch drops heavy, warm hands atop his, stopping his progress. Jack looks up tremulously, his face burning in embarrassment. Gods above, only Jack could mess this up before he even got to touch Pitch's cock!

"Shh, you're doing fine," Pitch murmured, squeezing Jack's hands with a smile. Jack exhales with a touch of exasperation. How can he be doing fine if he hasn't even begun? "I just want you to remember that you can stop at any time."

Pitch's hands squeeze hard around Jack's and he wants to shrink back from those golden eyes burning into him. "It's enough that you want to do this to me.  _For_  me," Pitch smiles again, though Jack thinks there's something lurking beneath it. Jack certainly knows something about hiding behind smiles. He just can't figure out what Pitch would need to hide from him.

"Yeah, okay, limits," Jack nods jerkily. "But I think I can do this and I won't know unless I try. Right?"

Pitch gives him one last searching look, his eyes flickering over Jack's face. He gives his hands another squeeze, gentler this time, before letting go.

Shifting his knees so he's more comfortable, Jack's hands feel small and clumsy as he reaches for Pitch. Pitch is already completely hard and it's overwhelmingly large when Jack is this close. He's a little concerned about how he's going to fit all that in his mouth. The book had shown some courtesans taking the whole length into their mouths and Jack still can't figure out how they managed it. Maybe those kings were just smaller than Pitch--or maybe Pitch is just abnormally big? Jack bites his lip hard to keep from saying something stupid.

Pitch makes a small noise, and Jack's eyes dart up to look at him. "What now? Is some--"

"Nothing's wrong," Pitch runs the pad of his thumb over Jack's bottom lip, soothing away the bite. "Just...admiring the view."

"Then, uh, admire away," Jack says, his heart feeling oddly warm at the words. As pleased as Jack feels, he really wishes Pitch would stop distracting him. It's making it harder for him to not lose his nerve, but Jack knows there are better uses for his mouth than telling Pitch to shut up.

There is already a drop of liquid welling at the tip. He dabs it with his finger and brings it to his lips, hearing Pitch's breaths change to panting noises. It tasted bitter, somewhat saltier than his own and is going to take practice getting used to. Jack gives a few more pumps, and his eyes widened in fascination as more precome starts to gather at the head of Pitch's cock. Jack leans forward, the tip of his tongue gamely licking at the precome with a satisfied hum. Keeping his eyes turned upwards, nervous and desperately eager to please, Jack continues to lick the head and Pitch gasps silently, eyelids drooping over dilated pupils.

His tongue feels too big, and Jack's scared at how sharp his teeth suddenly feel. Uncertainty starts to saturate Jack's arousal and if he thinks too long and too hard about this, he's going to have to stop and Pitch'll be so  _disappointed_  with him, for having an inexperienced Jack as his courtesan--

Shoving the thoughts away fiercely, Jack swallows the straining head whole before he completely panics. A sharp cry escapes Pitch's mouth, the cords in his neck tense with pleasure. The aroma of Pitch is stronger here, more musky and shot through with the scent of pure arousal, and thank gods Jack's already got Pitch's cock in his mouth or he'd be drooling.

He does his best to adjust to the sticky, salty bitterness and sucks on the head again, and again, remembering to use his hands on the bits he can't reach with his mouth. Jack feels awkward and uncoordinated, left to his own devices like this. Normally he'd ask for Pitch to bind him, but there's no way he won't choke on Pitch's cock without his hands to steady him. He stares up at Pitch pleadingly, hoping that he'll be able to read Jack's fears and do  _something_  to make it better.

Pitch drops both of his hands down to cradle Jack's head, shaking fingers threading through the strands. The effect on Jack is immediate--his own cock becomes so hard it feels brittle and he moans happily around Pitch's cock. The hands in Jack's hair tighten suddenly, pulling at the roots. Jack keeps moaning, one, two, three times, all the while massaging what isn't in his mouth with his hand.

Jack tries to keep his eyes focused on the sight of Pitch--cheeks flushed, mouth slack in pleasure--but his brain feels like it's going to melt from the hot weight of Pitch's cock on his tongue and the throbbing heat between his legs. He closes his eyes and grips base, sucking hard. Dimly he can hear Pitch saying something, his long-fingered hands yanking urgently. No,  _no_ , just a little longer, Jack's almost certain he's figured it out--

Suddenly come floods his mouth. Jack gasps through his nose and pulls away quickly, sputtering a bit. A second pulse of come strikes his cheek and Jack can only look up, bewildered and so painfully hard, at the terrible feral glint in Pitch's eyes.

So fast that Jack can hardly process it, Pitch yanks him up into his arms and crushes their lips together. There’s hardly any finesse, just biting and claiming and  _fuck_ , Jack can't get enough of it. Pitch licks his way into Jack’s mouth, swiping his tongue along the roof of his mouth and causing a bright pulse of sensation to zip through Jack’s cock.  Gods, that mouth is so hot and wet, his tongue all rough softness, and he can’t stop clinging, can hear himself groaning into the kiss--this is-- _oh--_   

Pulling back, Pitch drags his tongue across the streak of come on Jack’s cheek and suddenly,  _finally_  the world explodes in a dizzying blaze of white. Jack throws his head back in a breathless whine, convulsing as he comes without a touch, the pleasure so sharp that it skirts the edge of pain. His hands dig into Pitch, shaking and shuddering hard enough to rattle his teeth. 

Jack's vision is swimming and sparkling from the tears in his eyes. The air feels far too thin as Jack struggles to bring his breathing under control. He slumps forward heavily, forehead pressed against Pitch’s.

“Oh, Jack,” Pitch sighs, the warm puff of his breath ghosting into Jack’s mouth. He brushes his lips across Jack’s--it’s not a kiss, not really, but it’s so  _intimate_  that it sends a new wave of tremors through Jack.

“So…so that was okay?” Jack swallows thickly, his voice sounding hoarse even to his ears. Having Pitch come in his mouth isn't as unpleasant as he expected, the bitter yet sweet tang of Pitch's come still burning in the back of his throat. He pulls back far enough to gaze into those intense golden eyes. 

“With that as your first try, there is no way I’ll survive you becoming truly proficient,” Pitch grins lazily, his eyes darting down to stare at Jack’s mouth. “I wish you could see yourself. Those indecent red lips…” Pitch leans in for a proper kiss and Jack is surprised at how swollen his lips feel. Pitch pulls back, that feral gleam still in his eyes. “Your mouth was  _made_  for sucking cock.”

It is way too soon to even think of another round, but it doesn't stop Jack’s cock from giving a feeble, valiant twitch. “Uh, well,” Jack clears his throat, flattered and a little bashful, “no one’s ever said that to me before.”

“And no one else ever will,” Pitch growls, his warm hands heavy and secure around Jack’s hips. 

“No one,” Jack agrees, his mouth curling into a shy smile. “Only you.”


End file.
